


Eight Paws for Jesse McCree

by wyntera



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo's dragons, M/M, Soba and Udon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15248067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Whenever Jesse imagined having a pet, it was never quite like this.





	Eight Paws for Jesse McCree

Jesse McCree never had a pet. That’s not to say he never wanted one; he distinctly remembers his younger self watching the neighbor kids play with a pair of pit bull pups, the burning heat of jealousy pooling in his stomach the only thing hotter than the summer heat. He also remembers the sharp sting of his father’s palm on his cheek when he dared to ask for a dog of his own. Not being allowed a pet ranked pretty low on the long list of offenses that drove him from home. He tries not to think about that.

There was no point in having a pet in Deadlock. They were always on the move, always just scraping by, spending their money on booze and guns and bullets to fill them. There were pit bulls there, too, and dobermans and rottweilers and German shepherds, but they weren’t pets. They were twisted, manipulated beasts made vicious for the profit of others then discarded when they were no longer useful. Soulful eyes behind bared teeth. Maybe if Jesse had been older, wiser, he would have realized how much they had in common.

Blackwatch left little time for Jesse to consider having a pet. Gabe was a smart man; he knew that idle hands were the devil’s workshop. He kept Jesse busy. When he wasn’t on mission he was training, or learning a new skill, anything to keep him from wandering into his old ways. He kept busy so that the only thing he wanted in his downtime was a bit of peace and quiet, not another life to worry about. He had enough lives to worry about then. Besides, a pet was just another thing someone had to deal with if you didn’t come back from a mission, and Jesse was tired of being someone else’s burden.

On the run, a pet was a liability. Pets can’t change their appearance, are easily traceable, and draw attention wherever they go. Lord knows Jesse wanted to pet every dog and cat he ever met on the street. He couldn’t risk having a companion that would act like a beacon to every animal lover in sight. That didn’t stop him from dropping into the occasional pet store or shelter, sticking his fingers through the wire cages to brush the fur of a purring kitten or excitable puppy. Sometimes he would see a place struggling, too many innocent faces behind criss-crossing metal just waiting for a place to call their own. If he could, he would slip an anonymous donation under their door before he breezed out of town.

One time Jesse hunkered down in an abandoned warehouse for a week to avoid the authorities that had gotten a little too close for comfort. Nestled between two broken crates was a mother cat nursing six kittens. He’d won her over by sharing his food, and soon enough he had the whole family curled up and purring in his lap to siphon the heat from his body. He was there to see the little fluffs of black and sooty gray open their eyes for the first time. The morning of his last day, the cats were gone, moving on in the night. He took it as a sign it was time to move on, too.

That was probably the closest he ever had to a pet. A fleeting companion of circumstance that left just as quickly as it came. That was the way of things, and Jesse was used to it.

Then Hanzo Shimada came along and things got weird.

 

\---

 

“I was thinkin’ about running Program 88 later, if you’re interested. Satya said she and Jamison made some adjustments to the target bots so they’ll be less predictable, and Torbjörn needs someone to test that new armor alloy he’s been working on. Maybe we can head over and grab some lunch after-- _ Jesus Christ! _ ”

Jesse fumbles the milk carton but manages to catch it against his stomach, the plastic denting under his metal fingers. He doesn’t really notice because there’s a little dragon sitting on the counter.

Across the kitchen island Hanzo looks up from his rice and nattō, Jesse’s outburst taking the sleepy archer by surprise. His eyes widen when he sees the source of the commotion. “Oh,” he says, caught off-guard himself. He shifts on his stool as if to stand. “Soba, come.”

The dragon--because it is clearly a dragon and not some sort of fever dream, fever dreams don’t respond to other people’s orders--gives Jesse a parting glance before slinking over the counter and hopping across the divide to its master. Hanzo holds out his and the creature all but leaps into his skin in a flash of electric blue. If not for the uncomfortable-bordering-on-distrustful look Hanzo casts his way, Jesse would think he imagined the whole thing. “I apologize. We did not mean to frighten you.”

“No need to apologize! Just wasn’t expectin’ it is all.” Jesse sets the milk carton down next to his waiting cereal, distracted beyond his hunger for the moment. “Ain’t every day a man gets his breakfast and finds a critter like that next to the coffee pot. Well, most men. Maybe you do?”

He can read the hesitation on Hanzo like words on a billboard. They’ve moved beyond blanketed hostility and cordial tolerance to something resembling friendship; hopefully this isn’t some massive misstep on Jesse’s part. Hanzo’s eyes cut toward the empty doorway and back again before the tension eases in his shoulders. “Sometimes.”

Jesse smiles, nodding at Hanzo’s exposed shoulder and the tattoo that might be glowing, or it might be a play of the morning sunlight on Hanzo’s skin. “You called him Soba?”

“Yes,” Hanzo says, shifting back to his seat. “Soba and Udon. They are the spirits I call in battle.”

“So I should be thankin’ them for savin’ my hide a time or two,” Jesse offers. It gets Hanzo hesitantly smiling back. “Never seen them little before. They do that often?”

“Not often. But they can manifest under the right circumstances.”

“And what circumstances might that be?” Jesse asks.

“I suppose they can sense that I am…” Hanzo pauses, fishing for the right word. The flash of realization on his face is quickly tamped down. “Comfortable.”

_ Safe,  _ Jesse’s mind supplies. He turns back to his cereal to give Hanzo his space. “That’s good to hear. Maybe we’ll see ‘em around more.”

“Maybe.”

 

\---

 

The mission was a disaster from start to finish. False intel, worse weather, and a streak of bad luck left all of them bruised, bloody, and badly in need of rest. Hanzo got the worst of it, taking a bad fall off loose clay shingles and clipping his shoulder on an overhang before collapsing on the balcony below. Not his finest moment, but for once the pain is stronger than his pride and he is more than happy for Lúcio’s healing music. 

Hanzo all but collapses once they are safely in the Orca on their way home. Feet tucked up on one seat and body curled in a painful ball on another, his injured arm cradled in a sling close to his body, head buried deep in the collar of his jacket, he looks the definition of miserable. Lúcio advises them to leave him be once he has speakers set up to pump a calming beat into Hanzo’s system.

Rationally he knows that Hanzo is in good hands but Jesse still worries. He saw the archer fall and the way he had writhed on the ground in agony before pushing back to his feet. Jesse takes a position two seats over from Hanzo just out of the healing radius, drops his hat and serape between them, and settles in for the long ride home.

Jesse is just on the cusp of dozing off when a flicker of blue in his peripheral catches his attention. Glancing over and expecting to see Hanzo shifting in the jump seat, instead he sees a dragon.

Breath catching in his throat, Jesse goes still. This time the dragon seems unaware that he has been spotted, and Jesse has time to really look. A good foot longer than any cat he’s ever seen, with iridescent scales that remind him of the turquoise in his mother’s jewelry. There’s also silvery-white wisps of fur and antlers, a stag in the fog, and long pointed ears and whiskers that twitch with each subtle movement. It moves like cat, all lean muscles and a predator’s gait. Jesse watches the cautious movements as the dragon steps one foot at a time over the armrests to investigate his hat.

Then Jesse sees a second pair of antlers followed by two silvery eyes peek up from Hanzo’s other side. He has just a moment to suck in another shocked breath when the second dragon chirps, quiet as a mouse but loud enough to alert the first, and then they are both staring at him in tense silence.

Now, Jesse has never been in a situation quite like this before, but he thinks some things are universal. A little friendliness can go a long way. He swallows and smiles, whispering, “Howdy.”

The closer one, the one with one clawed paw on his serape, twitches its ears forward. Curious, Jesse thinks. “Ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he murmurs. “Your master will be right as rain in no time. Just a little banged up.”

Neither dragon takes their eyes off Jesse, but the one next to Hanzo climbs up and over his hip, draping itself over Hanzo like a long ineffective blanket.

Jesse can read the signs just fine: this one is ours, back off. He smiles, glancing between the dragons before settling on the more inquisitive of the two. “You hungry?” Its ears twitch up with interest, and Jesse chuckles. “Might be able to help with that.” With careful movements that telegraph what he’s doing well before he does them, he eases the glove off his good hand. Honestly, he isn’t sure what’s appropriate to give spirit dragons as a snack, but he doubts they have common allergies like normal animals. The dragon certainly seems excited to see the half-eaten candy bar that Jesse pulls from his pocket. Removing the wrapper, Jesse holds the chocolate out between them. A little less careful than before, the dragon leans in and sniffs the offering before swiping it from Jesse’s fingers with a snap of its jaws. Then it bounds back over Jesse’s hat to devour the bar in quick bites. The sense of accomplishment that wells up in Jesse seems disproportionate to just giving out a treat, but he smiles wider nonetheless.

“Whoa, are those Hanzo’s dragons?!” Hana blurts, her voice from across the transport cutting through the quiet enough to make Jesse jump. The dragons react too, feet scrabbling on the metal and Jesse’s hat getting knocked off the chair in their haste. Before it can hit the ground they’re both gone in a fading flash of blue.

It takes a moment to curb Jesse’s irritation enough to answer. “They were, yeah.”

 

\---

 

“He did not.”

“He did too!”

“It is not possible.”

“I’m tellin’ you, the guy did a damn back flip and landed on a shot glass, and it didn’t so much as crack!”

“You are full of wild tales but that is too much, even for you.”

“Swear on Peacekeeper!”

Hanzo huffs, shaking his head and pulling another arrow. “Right. And what happened then?”

“Well, I’ll have you know,” Jesse says, ready to launch into the next part of The Tale of Agent Ramsey and the Bar Brawl of 2068, but as he takes a step back toward the starting lane Hanzo jerks an arm forward.

“Careful!” he calls, snagging his fingers on Jesse’s sleeve and pulling him forward again. The move takes him by surprise and Jesse tumbles into Hanzo, about as graceful as a newborn calf. He has to brace himself with a hand on Hanzo’s warm shoulder. Expecting an explanation from Hanzo, instead he finds the archer looking down at their feet, and the dragon he almost stepped on.

“Oh!” Jesse twists around to stand next to Hanzo. “Sorry there, partner.” The dragon hardly pays him any mind, too focused on batting at the bullet casings littering the floor. One tumbles away and the dragon goes skidding after it. Jesse chuckles. “Guess there’s no hard feelings there.”

“Soba,” Hanzo barks, frowning as the dragon chases the casing under one of the target bots. They see another streak of blue around the outside of the firing range, the other dragon weaving between the legs of the benches lining the walls. “Udon, come back!”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jesse says. Hanzo looks up at him and only then does Jesse remember himself and drops his hand form Hanzo’s shoulder. “They can stay, I don’t mind.”

The frown stays but looks less irritated and more wary. “Are you certain?”

“Of course. They ain’t botherin’ nobody. Looks like they’re havin’ fun?” They look to the dragons again and Jesse amends, “Well, one of ‘em anyway.”

“That would be Udon,” Hanzo explains as the dragon along the walls glares back at them with a distrusting expression. “He is slower to accept new people than Soba.” He releases a soft laugh when Jesse wiggles his fingers at Udon in a tiny wave and Udon responds by baring his teeth. “Do not take it personally.”

“How can you tell them apart?” Jesse asks. “They look damn near identical to me.”

“Udon’s antlers have four points, while Soba’s have three. Udon is also longer while Soba is thicker around the middle. Their temperaments are night and day.”

Jesse watches as Soba knocks the bullet casing back across the floor and leaps after it in sporadic little arcs, like a rock skipping across a pond. The casing slides right at Udon and when Soba comes close the other dragon hisses and swipes at him. Soba dances backwards and growls playfully before running to find a new toy. “They’re cute.”

There is a long beat of silence that has Jesse wondering if he somehow spoke out of line, but when he glances at Hanzo he finds the other man staring back at him with an odd expression. Like Jesse is not just a piece that doesn’t fit the puzzle, but a dice that somehow found its way into the puzzle box. “They are immortal spirit dragons. They are not cute.”

Without missing a beat, Jesse counters, “Now, ain’t that a mean thing to say, and right in front of them, too.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes but Jesse catches him smiling as he steps back up to the firing line. “You were telling a story. What happened to Ramsey?”

Jesse launches back into his tale, even if he has to talk a little louder over the sound of Soba chewing on brass.

 

\---

 

Neither man has been on a proper date in over a decade. Maybe it’s the novelty of the experience, or maybe the traditional dinner-and-a-movie is a classic for a reason, but neither Jesse nor Hanzo can remember ever enjoying such a simple evening quite this much. Perhaps the simplicity is what makes it so exciting; they live in a frenzy more often than not, risking their lives on a weekly basis, but risking your heart is a whole different beast. Even the little things, like taking your date’s hand as you stroll back to base, can send your heart racing.

The innocent gesture gets Jesse a soft, shy smile and a faint blush from Hanzo. Light from the setting sun filters down through the trees overhead, painting Hanzo all shades of gold and shadow. Jesse finds it hard to watch where he’s going, too enraptured by his companion to care where the path leads. “You are staring,” Hanzo says, not displeased by this in the least.

“Yeah, well, now I don’t have to be all stealthy about it,” Jesse replies, and Hanzo laughs.

“How often do you find yourself looking?” Hanzo asks playfully.

“Handsome as you are? As often as I can get away with.”

Hanzo shakes his head and presses closer so their shoulders brush as they walk. “Flatterer.” He glances up at Jesse with an appraising eye. “I suppose I can admit to looking from time to time, as well.”

With his prosthetic hand Jesse reaches up and tugs on the brim of his hat, bashful. “Sweetheart, I know I ain’t much to look at. Definition of rough around the edges, I think.”

He happens to meet Hanzo’s gaze just as the other man’s smile morphs into a wicked smirk. “I like rough,” he replies, and suddenly Jesse wishes they had driven to town instead of walked.

Then he trips over a dragon.

_ “Shit!”  _ Jesse squeaks, staggering forward as the dragon keeps darting to where his foot is going to be, almost like it is determined to get stepped on. “Sorry, sorry!”

“Udon! Udon, we do not trip people!” Hanzo scolds as the dragon scampers out from underfoot to the treeline where Soba clings to a skinny tree trunk like a squirrel. They chitter at each other as Udon leaps up onto the opposite side of the tree below Soba. They look unrepentant, Udon’s tail swinging with agitation. Hanzo huffs and turns to Jesse. “I apologize, I do not know what has gotten into him--”

“Stop, stop, it’s fine.” And it is, because Hanzo has his arm around Jesse’s waist from trying to keep them both steady, and Jesse’s hand is on the small of Hanzo’s back. “They’re just havin’ a bit of fun. No harm done. Maybe they’re just feelin’ antsy.”

Hanzo tilts his head in consideration. “It has been some time since they were out while off of base that was not in battle.” To the dragons, he calls, “Go explore, and do not get into trouble.”

That is all the prompting they need, the two spirit dragons leaping off the tree and into the underbrush. Jesse can track their progress by the twin glowing streaks that loop between threes and around rocks, up into the branches overhead. “They can run off like that? I thought they were connected to you.”

“They can go a short distance,” Hanzo says. “Not far.” His fingers slide from Jesse’s waist up over his chest, settling over his heart. “I thought we might like some privacy.”

Jesse quirks an eyebrow and tugs Hanzo closer. “A fine idea, darlin’,” Jesse murmurs, dipping his head to meet Hanzo half way. If the dragons look a little less antagonistic toward Jesse when they get back to the base, it might be because of the dopey smile on Hanzo’s face.

 

\---

 

“I thought you wanted to watch a movie.”

“I am watching.”

“You are distracted.”

“I’m multitasking.” Jesse punctuates this by tossing the tennis ball against the wall and back again. From the chair opposite him Soba and Udon’s eyes follow the ball as it arcs through the air. “Do you think they’d fetch it?”

Hanzo shuffles from sitting to reclining on the couch, now just as distracted from the movie as Jesse. He watches Jesse on the floor in front of him repeatedly toss the ball and catch it again, wiggling it at the dragons between each throw. “They are powerful spirit dragons, they would not debase themselves by playing a game as degrading as fetch.”

“Not everything is about honor and dignity, darlin’,” Jesse says with a laugh. “Sometimes it’s just about havin’ some fun. ‘Supposed to be good exercise.”

“They do not need exercise,” Hanzo points out. “Again: immortal spirit dragons.”

“I dunno. Soba’s lookin’ a bit round in the middle.”

Fingers tug at the brown locks at the back of Jesse’s head. “That is because someone keeps slipping him food. Do not think I am oblivious to what you are doing, bribing them to win them over.”

Jesse tilts his head back so he can look at Hanzo upside-down. “I need all the help I can get. Udon ain’t takin’ kindly to me.”

“He will come around, eventually,” Hanzo replies, pressing a kiss to Jesse’s upturned lips and scratching his nails lightly down the column of his throat. “I did, after all.”

“Just call me a dragon tamer,” Jesse teases. Another laugh from Hanzo and he turns his attention back to the two dragons he’s trying to befriend. “Alright, boys, come on now, one of you wants to play, I can see it in your eyes.” He bounces the ball a few times in quick succession then throws it against the far wall. This time it clips the corner of the couch on the rebound and ricochets toward the door. As soon as the ball hits the hallway both dragons leap from their lounging positions to give chase. Hanzo and Jesse both flinch when they hear scraping of claws on metal, the sudden impact of half a dozen objects on the floor, and Winston’s abrupt shout when they collide down the hall.

Jesse turns his head to look at Hanzo. “Whoops.”

 

\---

 

They have been dating a few months before they finally tumble into bed together. The delay is not by choice but from the conflicting schedules and bone-tired weariness that all agents suffer in turns. But the stars finally align and Jesse thanks them dearly because there is something truly wondrous about having Hanzo Shimada grabbing your ass for leverage as he grinds against your thigh.

Jesse moans into Hanzo’s mouth and gets to work divesting Hanzo of his clothes, starting with the other half of that kyudo-gi he’s always wearing improperly. It would be fair to say that Hanzo has made him a chest-man, through and through. He gropes at Hanzo unabashedly, soft then rougher when Hanzo responds by wrapping his legs around Jesse’s waist and squeezing. The added friction from the press of their bodies together has him seeing stars. He puts just enough space between them to murmur his pleasure.

Or he would, if he wasn’t letting out a scream at the sudden sharp, slicing pain as something collides with his back.

_ “Mother-FUCK!” _ Jesse rears back and Udon drops down onto the bed. For a few blinding seconds he doesn’t register much other than stinging and heat. Then Hanzo is sitting up, gentle hands rubbing his arms and bringing him back to the present.

“Jesse? Are you alright? How bad did he get you?” Hanzo lifts the shirt from Jesse’s back and tosses it carelessly to the floor, sucking in a breath at the collection of thin razor scratches in the tan skin.

“I’m alright,” Jesse grunts. So maybe his eyes are watering a bit. He blinks them away before Hanzo can see, but Jesse doesn’t think he’s fooling anyone.

“These need cleaning; wait here.” Hanzo whisks himself off to the bathroom in search of the first aid kit and Jesse looks over at the two dragons on the floor next to the bed. Udon looks a little too smug for Jesse’s liking, but surely that’s his imagination, right? There’s little time to contemplate it as Hanzo comes back and begins to wipe at the wounds with something that burns like fire and eliciting a long hiss. “I know, I am sorry,” Hanzo says at the choked-off noise Jesse makes, working briskly to lessen the pain. “They are not too bad, but I do not want them to get infected.”

“It’s alright, ain’t your fault,” Jesse sighs, folding his arms on his bent knees and resting his chin in the pillow they make. He lets out a soft laugh. “Never thought I’d get cockblocked by a pair of dragons. Your brother maybe, but not dragons. Only in Overwatch.”

Something cool touches the scratches and Jesse closes his eyes. Hazo is better at this than he would have thought. “You think that they are doing this on purpose?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse shrugs. “I’ve heard people’s pets can get jealous of their owner’s companions.”

“I have told you, they are not pets,” Hanzo says, his smile evident in his voice. His fingers slow and move away from the scratches to Jesse’s shoulders as he finishes applying the ointment. “But they are protective of me.” His hands stop and he squeezes once before letting go. Jesse sits up as his partner moves from the bed and kneels before his dragons. “Udon. Soba. Is this true? Have you been doing these things on purpose?”

Now they turn contrite; both dragons’ ears pin down in shame and Udon ducks behind his brother. The pair of puppy-dog eyes that they send Hanzo’s way is downright adorable. There is some rumbling that only Hanzo understands and Hanzo’s shoulders sag. “Come here,” he murmurs, gathering both dragons close. Lifting them with ease, Hanzo returns to the bed and shifts them in his lap. “I should have done this from the start, but I felt it would seem...weird, to start a relationship like this. I thought we were being clear, but...”

Jesse sits up straighter despite the pain in his back. “You’ll have to fill me in, sweetheart, cause I’m lost.”

Hanzo takes a breath and address the dragons. “Soba, Udon, Jesse is my...my....” He struggles a moment for the right word, mouthing a few without sound before settling. “My mate.” A weird expression must pass Jesse’s face because Hanzo flashes a smile. “Or intended. Or...it is not a passing fancy. Jesse has nothing but my best interests at heart. Right, Jesse?”

The question might be for the dragon’s benefit, but Jesse picks up on the slight waver in Hanzo’s voice that reminds Jesse that while these cute little critters might look like pets, they are actually powerful beasts linked to their master’s very soul. Perhaps the question isn’t for just the dragon’s benefit after all. “Absolutely,” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. “Your master, I know he’s been alone a long time, and, uh, I get that you’re worried about him. And I know he’s glad to have you there to care about him and watch’ out for him all the time. I care about him an awful lot, too. And I’m tryin’ my best to make him happy, just as much as he makes me happy. What me and Hanzo have, it’s real special.”

The dragons stare up at him, hard to read. When he glances up at Hanzo, the poor archer looks dumbfounded. Mouth slightly open, eyes wide, he offers no help so Jesse plows on. “I’d never hurt Hanzo on purpose. I swear to you. And if I ever do, you can do with me what you will, okay? Even if that means tearin’ me to pieces, I’ll bare my throat to you if I do Hanzo wrong. How’s that sound?”

Soba turns to Udon and issues a series of chirps that sound like something between a big cat and a bigger truck. The responding chitter and click of Udon gets abruptly cut off by Soba who snaps his jaws and chirps again. Jesse would ask what it all means but he’s afraid if he speaks he’ll ruin whatever peace talks are happening on his bed. Udon finally trills at Soba and they look up at Hanzo before turning their expectant stare at Jesse. “Hold your hand out,” Hanzo says, squeezing the fabric of the comforter beneath him.

“If I lose the fingers on this hand I won’t be happy, they’re all I’ve got left,” Jesse murmurs before doing as he’s told, palm face down and fingers curled inward. The dragons barely hesitate before moving forward to sniff at his knuckles and wrist. Their whiskers tickle and their breath is hot like a hair dryer. On instinct Jesse unfurls his fingers and lets Soba rub his face against his hand. “I’m petting a dragon.”

Hanzo laughs at the awe in his voice. “The novelty wears off sooner than you think. Now,” he says, voice changing to what Jesse has started to internally refer to as his Papa Hanzo voice, “I believe Bastion left a basket of fresh grapefruit on the counter in the commissary. If you would be so kind, Jesse and I would like some privacy.”

With one last parting pet down Soba’s body, the two dragons wrap around their master in a quick squeeze and rumble of goodbye before taking their leave, the door opening and closing behind them with Athena’s help. Jesse lets out a whoosh of relief. “That went well, I think--”

Strong hands grasp Jesse by the back of the head and yank him forward into a kiss so thorough Jesse thinks his mouth has developed new nerves to better feel every lick and stroke of Hanzo’s tongue. He actually feels a little lightheaded when Hanzo lets him breathe. “Did you mean that?”

“Mean--?” Oh. Right. “Of course I did. I’d be outta my mind if I let you go.”

That must have been the right thing to say. Hanzo starts nibbling his way down Jesse’s throat and yanking at his belt buckle at the same time. “I would ride you right now if not for those scratches,” he growls, finally yanking the belt free. “You will have to be on top. This time.”

“This time,” Jesse agrees, flipping their positions and groaning when Hanzo’s hand pushes into his jeans.

“And Jesse, from now on? The only scratches on your back better be from me.”

 

\---

 

Never let it be said that Jesse McCree isn’t capable of romance. When Hanzo first mentioned that it has been years since he went to the theater, and even longer since he’s seen proper kabuki, Jesse didn’t think much of it. He was never a theater man himself, and what does he know about kabuki? But as is usually the case, when he hears about something new and different for the first time suddenly it comes up everywhere. (The Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, Satya informed him while scrolling through her messages on her tablet.) 

A little research and a stroke of luck, and yesterday after dinner he presented two tickets to a traveling kabuki show that had Hanzo squealing with glee. Or, well, smiling wide and dropping to his knees, which is on par with squealing with glee for Hanzo.

Splashing on a light cologne that Hanzo’s shown preference to, Jesse looks himself over in the mirror. Hair artfully tousled, beard trimmed into submission, fancy clothes just the right side of disheveled, he thinks he cleans up pretty damn well for an outlaw. Hell, he even ditched his favorite belt buckle for something with class. Not too shabby at all.

He’s meant to meet Hanzo in the garage in ten minutes, so he goes to grab his serape when he’s met with a growl. Crouched atop the pile of cloth is Udon, his weight pinning the serape to the bed.

“Alright, give it here,” Jesse says, tugging on the red fabric. Udon just digs his claws in harder and snaps at his fingers. “Hey now! No biting! Come on, I need that.”

Udon bares his teeth and growls low before gathering the serape up tighter against his chest.

Jesse props his hands on his hips. “Well what am I supposed to wear then, huh?”

Commotion from his closet has Jesse whipping around. A nice chunk of his hangers just clattered to the floor with all the clothes falling in a heap. From the pile comes Soba, body draped in midnight blue and silver fabric like some sort of very short knight’s steed. He plops down in front of Jesse and chirps at him, tail held aloft and curled.

The serape is soft and heavy, the silken silver threads of the embroidery raised beneath his fingers. “Shit, I forgot I even had this thing,” Jesse says, lifting the serape into the light. “You don’t think the skull’s too much?”

Udon and Soba look at each other, then at Jesse again. Even as dragons he can read their flat expressions.

“Right. Man with the giant dragon tattoo. Got it.” He twirls the serape over his shoulders and folds the ends so they’ll stay secure. The dragons were right; the blue works better with his outfit, looks regal and elegant, much more fitting a night at the theater with a man like Hanzo Shimada. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” He smiles down at the dragons. “Thanks, guys.”

Soba chirps as Udon starts working a hole into the edges of Jesse’s red serape with his teeth.

 

\---

 

Jesse is humming under his breath, trying to remember a tune he’s had stuck in his head all morning while making himself another cup of coffee, when Jack pauses in crunching his cereal to say, “You’ve got a tail.”

A quick look at his backside just in case and Jesse raises an eyebrow at the old soldier. “You need to get your visor checked?”

Jack takes another bite before motioning with his spoon. “Not that kind of tail. Little dragon’s following you around.”

When Jesse turns to look he just catches a glimpse of blue scales and white fur at the end of a tail disappearing around the kitchen island. He smiles and turns back to pouring his coffee. “Don’t worry about it.”

The not-knowing probably irks the former commander, but Jesse isn’t about to draw attention to it. Truth be told he noticed Soba following him when he went down to the training area for a morning workout. So far he’s only seen a foot, or a tail, or the point of an antler. Jesse finds Soba’s curiosity amusing.

Today seems like a day for sweetness rather than his usual black-as-night brew. When he turns back from retrieving the sugar he notices Soba has inched closer. Frozen against the dishwasher as if Jesse’s peripheral vision isn’t strong enough to detect him. Jesse plays along and ignores him, spooning sugar into his cup and giving it a slow stir. They’re out of creamer so he goes for milk, leaning into the refrigerator to find an almost-empty carton. Damn Morrison. He grabs the carton and an orange while he’s at it.

Soba isn’t there when he closes the door. Jesse tries not to be disappointed, splashing what’s left of the milk into his coffee and turning to lean with his back against the cool refrigerator door. As he takes a hesitant sip he feels his hat dip forward more than it should. Ah, there he is.

Jesse tries not to laugh as a dragon snout tip his hat over his eyes followed by the feeling of something snuffling at his hair. The hat can only withstand gravity so much, though. When it topples to the floor Jesse turns and looks at the dragon perched on top of the appliance. “Howdy,” Jesse says, grinning when Soba doesn’t immediately bolt. Yes, it may be intimidating to have a dragon’s maw inches from his face, but Soba’s ears are perked forward and he seems friendly enough. “Can I help you, sir?”

The little dragon shifts on his clawed feet back and forth before looking down at the orange.

“Oh, this? You want this?” Jesse asks, holding it up.

Soba’s tail thwaps loud against the top of the refrigerator and pushes one of Reinhardt’s big cooking pots toward the edge. He makes an excited sound like rusted metal grating on metal. Across the room Jack flinches.

Jesse tosses the orange up and Soba snaps it out of the air with a loud squish, pulp and juice squirting against the refrigerator and Jesse and the surrounding floor. Soba ignores Jesse’s indignant squawk in favor of munching happily at his treat, juices running down the paler scales of his front. Jesse wipes at his face, chuckling and shaking his head. “Thanks for that.”

“You know, I’ve seen a lot of weird things in my time,” Jack says, pouring more cereal into his bowl. “But this ranks pretty high.”

Just then Hanzo strolls in with Genji in tow, both fresh from their own outdoor workout up the mountain. Hanzo’s got a glow thing going on that Jesse finds undeniably distracting and has his thoughts diving in the gutter, but Jesse tries not to think sexy thoughts about Hanzo when Genji is in the room. He’s not always successful, but he tries, and that’s what counts. “Gentlemen,” he greets, pulling out the pot for the tea he knows they’ll want. “How’d the meditation go? You win?”

Hanzo laughs while Genji just sighs. “That was not funny the first hundred times you said it, and it is not now.”

“He laughed,” Jesse points out. “So, funny.” He punctuates this with a peck to Hanzo’s lips. “Hey darlin’.”

“Good morning,” Hanzo replies before promptly stealing Jesse’s coffee. He has a sneaky little smirk on his face that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Udon has a gift for you.”

“He what now?”

Udon comes strolling into the kitchen, head and tail held high. The only odd thing about him is the bulge of his mouth. He lowers his head and he drops a dead frog at Jesse’s feet, then looks up at Jesse expectantly. Behind Jesse, Soba gives another happy chirp.

Jesse forces a smile. “Ah...thanks, buddy. That’s...great.”

Jack shakes his head and shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth. “I stand corrected.”

 

\---

 

Sometimes Jesse likes to sing in the shower. Who doesn’t? If you’re having a good morning, the sun is shining, your boyfriend is lounging in your bed, why wouldn’t you let your happiness out with a little song? Besides, the bathroom might be on the small side but the acoustics in the Overwatch showers are amazing. And as long as he doesn’t break the No Singing Before Nine In The Morning rule that Mako instituted the first week he moved in, he isn’t bothering anybody.

Except this morning he can’t sing over the sound of Soba and Udon wailing from outside the shower cubicle.

“Guys, guys, I’m fine!” Jesse shouts over the warbling cries. How can Hanzo just lay in there and listen to this? Do they do this for him, too? He scrubs the shampoo into his hair faster, hoping to get out before the rest of the hall comes knocking.

While his eyes are closed against the spray he hears scraping at the cubicle door. Once he can see he finds a pair of paws through the fogged glass, thick pads and dark claws trying to get Jesse out of the shower. Another shadowy blue figure leaps up onto his counter and howling has the added accompaniment of all his toiletries clattering into the sink. “Alright, alright, I’m coming!”

As soon as the water slams off the dragons go silent. Jesse slings his towel around his waist and eases the cubicle door open. There’s Soba on the bath mat and Udon half in the sink, both poised to aid him out of the tub. His toothbrush is on the floor.

Udon chirps.

 

\---

 

Hanzo isn’t on the mission when Jesse gets shot, but he is waiting anxiously on the tarmac when the Orca touches down. Judging by the horrified look on Hanzo’s face when they wheel him down the ramp, the others didn’t do a great job cleaning up all the blood. And he remembers a lot of blood, enough that he’s been slipping in and out of consciousness the whole ride back. He can tell they’re moving from the lights gliding by in flashes overhead. Lúcio tries to keep Hanzo calm as he fills the other man in on Jesse’s status and Zenyatta methodically attaches equipment to body parts that no longer feel like his own. All of this happens while Angela does things to his abdomen. Jesse can’t feel whatever it is other than distant tugs and pressure, and for that he is grateful.

“Hanzo,” Satya says from Angela’s side, her voice sharp as a scalpel through Jesse’s haze. “Your dragons, please, they’re in the way.”

Jesse tries to lift his head but the cool metal of Zenyatta’s hands hold him still and steady. “Please do not move, Jesse.”

“Where’re they?” he slurs out, eyes rolling around. Zenyatta’s domed head moves and suddenly Hanzo is leaning near, Udon looking over his shoulder and Soba in his arms. “H’nz’?”

“We are here, Jesse, right here,” Hanzo says. He sounds distressed. Jesse hates it; Hanzo should never sound like that. “Just stay still and let them work, okay?”

Hanzo’s fingers push the wild strands of hair out of his eyes, and Jesse yearns to lean into the touch. His head is too heavy to move, though. He’s so tired, and he’s in good hands now. They’ll take care of him.

He thinks he feels a snout nuzzling his shoulder before he slips into darkness.

 

\---

 

His first night out of the infirmary, Jesse wakes in the soft hours before dawn. The pain is nothing but a dull soreness now and his medications are starting to wear off. He’ll have to take more soon. Still, he’s gone through worse before, so the aches aren’t what wake him.

No, it’s the warm pressure on his body in places there usually isn’t. With effort Jesse forces his eyes to open and adjust to the dim room. Hanzo is where he should be, curled into Jesse’s side, his warm breath ghosting over Jesse’s shoulder, a leg hooked over Jesse’s calf. There’s warmth all around Jesse’s head though and it takes him a moment to realize the shape in the dark is Soba’s upper body. The dragon has curved himself around Jesse to cradle him against the pillow, his own head snuggled up so his snout nestles in Jesse’s beard. The rhythmic breathing makes Jesse think he must be asleep.

Which just leaves the pressure on his thighs. Jesse risks a look down and finds Udon on his lap in what could only be described as a loaf. Or, given his length, maybe a baguette. Unlike his brother, Udon is awake, watching him with slitted eyes. When he notices Jesse’s alertness, he starts to rumble.

No. Not rumble. Purr.

If Jesse wasn’t trapped between three deadly beings, he would coo.

Then Udon stretches his front legs out over Jesse’s stomach and starts to knead.

In the morning he’ll have a collection of little scratches all over his belly, and he and Hanzo will  have a much-needed discussion about the dragons’ nail care, but right now Jesse couldn’t be happier. Even if he has to pry Udon’s claws out of his shirt before he can fall back to sleep.

 

\---

 

“What is this?”

Jesse stands to the side and holds out an arm in a grand gesture. “It’s a dragon tree.”

Hanzo opens and closes his mouth for a moment. “A what?”

“A dragon tree. You know, like a cat tree? Only bigger. I couldn’t find one that was big enough for them to lounge on, so I had Torb give me a hand. It’s got perches and cubbyholes, a swing rope, and this post down here they can scratch their claws on. Winston gave us some Kevlar cable for it, so we shouldn’t have to replace it too often.” When Hanzo just stares, Jesse looks down at the dragons that look equally flabbergasted. “Go on! It’s for you; try it out!”

The dragons look up at him then leap into action. They’re a flurry of movement, hopping from perch to perch, slinking in and out of the hidey-holes, clinging to the sides and climbing around. Udon starts making use of the Kevlar scratching post within the first minute. Jesse laughs and leans down to give him an affectionate scratch behind his antlers that gets his little motor running.

“You made this,” Hanzo says.

Jesse straightens and shrugs. “Well, yeah, mostly. Torb helped.”

“You made this, for our dragons,” Hanzo clarifies.

“Yeah?” For the first time since the idea stuck in his brain, Jesse worries if he’s overstepped his bounds. “I mean, they’re your dragons, I just thought they’d like it. If it’s too much I can--”

Hanzo cuts him off with a hand over his mouth. Jesse has seen many various stages of pleasure on Hanzo’s face at this point, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen quite this level of happiness. Hanzo practically beams up at him. “They are our dragons, Jesse. You big dumb man.” He pulls Jesse down into a kiss and doesn’t let go until Soba and Udon start fighting over the top perch.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.


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